Winchester under the Bed
by penpenhooray
Summary: All his life, Derek's heard horror stories of the Winchester brothers, hunters that were more terrifying than any other hunters. And he feared them. Years later, Derek still fears the day he'll spy a black car rolling into town with two brothers intent on killing him. And the pack...well, they're just trying to understand what has their Alpha in such fear.
1. Chapter 1

_So this a SPN/TW crossover focusing on one main idea: What if the Winchesters were the boogieman that lurked until little werewolf children's beds? I hope you enjoy my take on this idea!_

* * *

It was nothing but harmless fun to begin with. Derek could remember several instances in which his cousins (and on several occasions, his Uncle Peter) would gather up the younger children and tell them horror stories of the hunters who lurked in the shadows, just waiting to kill innocent werewolves.

It was Laura who asked for the tale of the Winchesters in the first place. And it was Uncle Peter who told the tale.

_"You all know of the hunters that lurk out there in the world, right?"_ He had asked them, "_They're always on the lookout for any werewolves to hunt down and kill with silver and wolfsbane."_

The children had all nodded, Derek included, caught in the thrall of what promised to be a terrifying story.

_"Well, my little mongrels." _Uncle Peter continued, "_There are hunters who claim they've been hunting werewolves for centuries. They have their fancy books and their guns, and all plenty lethal to lycan kind. But there is one family of hunters that other hunters dare not whisper— Winchester."_

Derek had listened with rapt attention as his uncle wove the dastardly tale of the Winchester children, who watched their mother be devoured by demon flames, and from that point on, trained to kill anything that crossed their path. They didn't carry fancy weapons or books, just whatever weapons could be hidden in the trunk of their black car. They didn't have the strength of numbers, just the two of them, and yet, the two never were killed by the stronger creatures of the Earth.

_"No one knows where the Winchesters are at this moment, which makes them all the more dangerous. So keep your head during the full moon, keep your wolf anchored from blood lust. Because if you lose yourself, word might reach hunters. But above all, _never _harm a human during the moon. The Winchesters will always avenge human deaths. And if you see that old black car rolling into town with two passengers…you better run, because you can't hide from the Winchesters."_

Several of the children begged for more of Uncle Peter's Winchester stories, but Peter had decided not to, claiming he would need the stories for next time.

Derek wouldn't admit it, but he was grateful. Because one night of no sleep was bad enough.

The stories continued throughout Derek's childhood, and each new detail that Peter wove only served to terrify Derek more. From tales of the brother who feasted on demon blood, to the grisly details of the ways in which the brothers knew how to kill various beasts, even how one brother ripped the head off a vampire with his bare hands.

Laura had been the first to notice his nerves regarding the Winchesters. From then on, it became a point for her to rib him on his developing phobia. From pointing out every black car that drove by, to fondly telling him at night to "sleep tight, don't let the Winchesters bite."

Derek could live with the teasing. It was the stories that got to him. And when Laura joined in on Peter's Winchester stories, Derek almost had to leave the room. Only his pride kept him from doing so.

_"Some say they can't be killed."_ Laura had added one night while Peter was telling another Winchester story to the children, who were now much older, "_They're immortal."_

Peter smirked, "_Oh, they can be killed alright." _He lowered his voice as he leaned closer to the children, "_The trouble with the Winchesters is_keeping_ them dead." _He nodded solemnly, "_Rumor has it that one brother was dragged all the way to Hell…and he crawled his way right back up. But that's a story for another time."_

Derek never got to hear that story, even if he had wanted to. The fire had seen to that. For all of Derek's fear of Winchesters, he had forgotten the dangers of ordinary hunters. And that carelessness had gotten his entire family killed.

And so he and Laura left. Not only because there was nothing left for them in Beacon Hills, but because, deep down, Derek was afraid that all the death would attract the Winchesters.

And Laura, for her part, stopped teasing him about the Winchesters. She never spoke of them again.

* * *

Returning to Beacon Hills was perhaps the hardest thing Derek had to do in his young life. But Laura was the last family he had, and if it was the last thing he could do for her, he would make sure she was buried with what dignity the Hale family had left to muster. It hurt, having to bury her in wolf form, but he knew he couldn't take her dismembered body to the morgue and ask for a funeral. And the pain of having to arrange wolfsbane around her grave was nothing compared to the pain that festered inside him, the pain that came from the knowledge that he was a lone wolf, with no family, doomed to be alone until he was hunted down.

"Sleep tight," Derek muttered, pressing a hand to the compressed dirt covering Laura, "don't let the Winchesters bite."

* * *

Honestly, Derek's emotions were running so wild over the following few weeks, he didn't have much time to grieve. From the anger he felt towards the new Beta at digging up his sister's body, to annoyance at being arrested. There was the tiniest bit of hope in mentoring the new Beta, but it was smothered by the sheer panic that shrouded the mystery of the Alpha. And then there was the pain, the sheer agony of coming across Kate Argent once more.

That agony had turned to fury, a blood lust he had never felt before. That blood lust had spilled over to his Uncle Peter once he learned the truth about Laura's death.

He didn't even regret killing either of them. He had relished being bathed in their warm blood, knowing they would never harm another being again. He was Alpha now. And he needed a pack.

_Sleep tight, don't let the Winchesters bite._

* * *

_So there's the first chapter! Let me know what you think! I'm cross posting this from AO3, so more chapters will be up shortly. If you have any ideas, let me know!_


	2. Chapter 2

"Stiles?"

"Hm?"

"You want to tell me what you're doing on my computer?"

Stiles didn't even bother to look up from the computer, chin in one hand as the other mindlessly scrolled down the webpage, "There are a lot of weird ass things to be afraid of, you know that?"

Scott raised an eyebrow, "I imagine so, but I'm not seeing how that answers the question on what you're doing on my computer, looking up-" He paused, looked at the text on the screen, ""the fear of the outline of one's penis being visible through clothing.""

"Oh come on, every guy has medectophobia to some degree." Stiles huffed, scrolling down the screen more, "Some of these phobias make sense: like pnigophobia, the fear of choking or being smothered. I'd be scared of that too. But then you get some weird ones, like protophobia, the fear of rectal disease, or just straight up polyphobia, fearing many things. At that point, you're just straight up Chuckie Finster and you can't even leave the house because you're so scared, which is apparently agoraphobia…"

Taking a deep breath, Scott ran a hand through his hair, "I know there's a point to this Stiles."

Stiles pursed his lips, staring at the screen for a few seconds longer, "You know what weird phobia I haven't found yet? The fear of black cars."

Scott blinked, "Like a hearse? Because that makes sense, hearses are creepy."

"Agreed, and there's no word for that fear either, oddly." Stiles shook his head, "But no, I just mean black cars in general."

The two sat in silence as Stiles continued to scroll through the phobia database. Finally, Scott released a defeated sigh, "Alright, I'll bite-"

"Please don't, I like being human."

"-shut up." Scott rolled his eyes, sitting on his bed, "So what has you scared of black cars?"

Stiles shook his head, "Not me. Derek."

Mention of Derek had the Beta's attention piqued, "Derek?"

"Uh, yeah. Didn't stutter there."

Scott shook his head, "No way man. Of all the things Derek might be afraid of, I think black cars would be low on the list."

"Well you're not the one spending quality time with him." Stiles stuck out his tongue, "Seriously though, every time a black car passes by him he freezes for like half a second. And then he has to watch it drive by. Every single time."

"And you know this…because you're staring at him?"

Stiles didn't answer, but then again, Scott could take the silence as an admission of guilt. "Seriously Stiles?"

"Four words, Scott: "Username: Allison, Password: Allison.""

"Point taken." Scott shook his head. Being a werewolf was hard enough sometimes, but leave it to Stiles to make it weirder by becoming…whatever it was he and Derek had going on. Just because Stiles felt like the den mother to the teenage werewolves didn't mean he had to take it so literally. "So why are you going to confront Mr. Emotionally Constipated on his black-car-phobia?"

"Because that's what good mates do: uncover your fears and discover the tragic backstory behind it."

"Might I remind you that the last tragic Hale family backstory we dealt with nearly got us all killed?"

"Shut up, or I won't help you with the homework I know you forgot to do."

* * *

Derek had never intended to take a mate, and he had certainly hadn't expected his wolf to decide that Stiles Stilinski would be the best Alpha Mate for his budding pack. Honestly, the first few times Derek had come across the boy, it had been all too tempting to tear his throat out and be done with it.

But no matter how high his annoyance with the loudmouth boy had been, there had always been that quiet, but solemn warning that constantly lurked in the back of his mind. _The Winchesters will always avenge human deaths. _And even if Derek hadn't dwelled on the old Winchester stories in years, it was hard to shake the lessons taught from those horror tales.

In the end, Derek's annoyance with Stiles had waned, and his wolf instead took noticed in Stiles's devotion to the pack, even though he himself had not taken the bite. True, that devotion had stemmed from his friendship with McCall, but that made no difference to Derek's wolf. If Derek was absolutely honest with himself, Stiles reminded him (if only slightly) of his own father.

A human Alpha Mate surrounded by a family of werewolves, and often the one who had to keep a level head when tensions ran high, Grant Hale had always been one to take care of the pack. Even when Derek and his sisters got into trouble, he was always there to smooth things over with a kind smile and a few wise words. And while true, Stiles tended to handle things with spastic energy and no little dose of sarcasm, he fill the same role Derek's father had.

Derek snorted, shaking his head to clear any nostalgic thoughts from his mind. No sense dwelling on the past, when the present had to be dealt with. Specifically, trying to rebuild the Hale family home. But by the way the bureaucrats at City Hall were acting, one would think they would rather have a burned out hull of a building standing as a reminder of where an entire family had lost their lives, instead of simply approving Derek's building requests and allowing him the proper permits. It took all of the Alpha's self-control to not growl in annoyance (and the only reason he stopped himself was because he was aware of how close he would be to wolfing out).

Self-control or no, Derek might have shut the door to City Hall a bit more forcefully than necessary, though the satisfaction of slamming a swinging door was not as great as he would have liked. "Damn lawyers…"

As he walked down the sidewalk to where his Camaro was parked, his eyes would flick to the road every so often, checking the movements in the car. Derek wasn't sure when the habit started (probably after Peter had first told the story of the Black Car), but now Derek was always on the lookout for unfamiliar black cars. It didn't matter what size, shape, or year, if it was black, Derek had to check and count the passengers.

_One- a guy who worked at the auto shop._

_Four- a soccer mom with one, two, three kids in the back seat._

_One- an off duty cop._

It was almost soothing when Derek would come up with too few, too many, or simply not the right passengers in the car. It reminded him that he was still safe.

_Two- Chris Argent dropping off his daughter at the high school._

It was strange, but despite everything Kate and Gerard Argent had done to Derek in the past, Derek was still grateful for the Argent family presence. Because while Derek didn't know a whole lot about Hunter culture (other than the "Code" and the fact that Hunters liked to kill werewolves), he was pretty sure that Hunters would respect the territory of other Hunters.

So while Derek was on shaky terms with Chris Argent, he was still confident that the man wouldn't snap and kill them all. And if Beacon Hill was under the protection of a Hunter (even one who was swearing off the lifestyle), then other Hunters wouldn't waste their time.

But still, Derek kept watching black cars.

* * *

The wheels of the blue Grand Cherokee creaked slightly as the car made its way into the parking lot, almost sighing in relief as it found a parking stall and the engine cut off.

"I know how you feel…" The driver murmured, patting the dashboard, "That was a long drive…"

"You didn't have to drive it. I could have simply brought you here."

The driver brought his gaze to the rear view mirror, meeting the heavy stare of the passenger in the back seat. "Humans don't simply appear in one place or another, we have to find other means of getting around." He shook his head, "And I thought you didn't want to come."

A dark look crossed the older man's face, "I'm bound to you, remember? And I'm forced to aid you on this…quest of yours."

"Don't be such a drama queen." The young driver rolled his blue eyes, "We're cleaning up the mess that you started, so stop your bitching." With a sigh, he looked up at the building in front of him. _"_It's been a while since I was in high school…"

"And why are you wasting time at this…school, when we could be searching for—"

"Because unlike my brothers, I don't want to end up on the FBI's Most Wanted list." He smirked back at the rear view mirror, "No one will suspect a high school student of doing anything, and who knows? Maybe I can find out a lead, gossip can be helpful."

An irritated sigh came from the back seat, "I don't suppose I have much choice?"

"No. Now make yourself scarce, you're not supposed to be in my car, and I can't have people thinking I talk to myself on my first day."

Silence settled over the car, but the driver didn't have to check to know that his reluctant passenger had departed to…wherever he went. With one last sigh, the young man grabbed the backpack that was seated in the passenger's seat and got out of his car.

It was relatively easy to find the school's main office, which he was grateful for. The last thing he needed was to wander around like a lost freshman. And the lady at the front desk looked relatively helpful.

"Excuse me," He cleared his throat to catch the receptionist's attention, "Um, hi. I just got in to town, and my uncle said he enrolled me here…do you know if…?" He trailed off, hoping he wasn't laying on the innocent act too thick.

"If there's a New Student record of you?" The receptionist gave him an easy smile, no doubt to calm his non-existent nerves, "I'll check to see if we have your transfer files and your schedule here. What did you say your first name was again?"

"Adam."

_So we have hunters again, even if it isn't the Winchesters we're used to. I couldn't help it, I love Adam too much and I feel like his character got dealt the short straw._


	3. Chapter 3

There were no doubt many ways in which one could describe Stiles Stilinki. He was, without a doubt, energetic (though some might have used the term "spastic" or even "neurotic"), with the ability to keep all systems go for hours on end. Those who knew him well would also describe him as a loyal friend. After all, not many could be a friend of a werewolf pack, not to mention help them deal with the supernatural chaos that seemed to haunt them.

But if Stiles could name one trait that described him best, it was the fact that he was incredibly curious, and he certainly wasn't ashamed to admit it. Sure, some might have considered him nosy, but Stiles wasn't going to let that deter him from his natural curiosity. After all, as they said, "curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

So when Stiles caught sight of an unfamiliar face in the front office, he could feel the nerves in the back of his mind prickling to life. The teen stopped in his path through the school hallway, causing Scott to nearly walk into him.

"Really, Stiles?" Scott frowned, straightening his shirt.

Stiles didn't answer, grabbing the Beta by the backpack and pulling him to hide behind a row of lockers as he peered around the corner into the office.

Scott let out a frustrated sigh, "What are you doing, Stiles?"

"There's a new kid…" Stiles murmured, taking a quick inventory of the student standing in the front office. He was tall, and no doubt wiry, with a lithe build under his jeans and leather jacket. Who still wore leather jackets except bikers and musical theater geeks hoping to sing "Summer Nights" at the talent show? The fluffy mop of sandy blond hair definitely gave of the vibe of "all-American boy next door," and Stiles would bet money on the fact the new boy probably had baby-blue eyes or something equally as adorably innocent. But then again, Isaac had that same look, and Isaac had the ability to rip out a person's throat…if he ever worked up the nerve…

"Yeah, a new kid." Scott shook his head, "So what?"

"Man, do you remember what this school's track record is with new people?" Stiles rolled his eyes, "And who transfers schools in the middle of last quarter?" Quickly, Stiles reached into his pocket, drawing out his cell phone.

Scott watched, eyebrow raised, "Now what are you doing?"

"Texting Derek." Stiles replied shortly, taking a quick picture of Blondie, as he mentally dubbed him.

"Why?"

"Because Pack Alpha should know if there's a new threat." Honestly, there were days in which Stiles was sure he was the only reason Scott hadn't gotten himself killed. Stiles knew his friend was naive, but come _on_…

_I__'__m starting to sound like Derek…_ The thought made Stiles smile slightly. The grumpy wolf was rubbing off on him, it seemed. The teen shook his head, typing out a quick message.

_[New kid on the block. Just a heads up.] _Stiles typed out quickly, making sure to include he picture of Blondie.

Beside him, Scott watched incredulously, "Wow dude, what the hell is Derek doing to you?"

"Nothing that can't be found in the _The Karma Sutra.__"_

"Dude, I didn't need to know that. I don't think _anyone _needed to know that."

Before Scott could continue on his disgust, but Stiles couldn't be bothered to listen, as he was distracted by the vibration of his phone in his hand.

_[Is he alone?]_

Tuning out Scott, who was probably threatening to inform Stiles's dad about his goings on with Derek, Stiles typed out his response. _[No idea. Just spotted him.]_

_[What car does he drive?]_

Stiles frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Huh…"

"What?"

"Oh, listening to me now?"

"Shut up." Scott shook his head, "What did the big bad wolf say?"

Instead of answering, Stiles showed him the message, "Still think I'm crazy for thinking Derek has black-car-phobia?"

Adam was not stupid, nor was he naive. At least, not anymore. There had been a time in which he would have blindly believed in the goodness of the world, but he knew better now. The past year had seen to that.

So he was more than aware of the two students standing outside the door to the office, and he was _definitely_ aware that his picture had been taken.

_That didn__'__t take long at all._ He smiled to himself, readjusting his backpack as he picked up his class schedule. The water sloshed sluggishly in the green Nalgene that was clipped to the side of his backpack as he made his way to the office door.

As Adam gripped the doorknob in his right hand, he could feel the warm metal of his ring clink against the brass knob. The small sensation brought a strange sense of comfort to Adam. Or perhaps it was confidence. Either way, it worked.

And if Adam opened the office door with a bit more force than he needed, smacking the two teens behind the door with a solid _thunk_, well…what an amusing way to start the day.

"Oh goodness, I'm so sorry!" Adam tried his best to looked shocked as he finally confronted the two outside.

One of the teens had been sent sprawling on the floor, but to his credit, the energetic teen bounced back up in a hurry, "No worries, dude! No harm, no foul."

The other teen, the one who had been lucky enough to remain standing, shook his head, "Yeah, it takes way more than that to hurt Stiles's hard head."

"Stiles, huh?" Adam chuckled, "Interesting name."

The bouncy teen, Stiles, shrugged quickly, "Well yeah, but no one can pronounce my real first name, so I'm saving myself the trouble."

"I can respect that." Adam nodded, extending his hand, "Adam Mil…ton," He cleared his throat, "Sorry, got a bit of breakfast caught in my throat."

Stiles laughed, shaking Adam's hand quickly, "No worries, man." He grinned, "Though I don't know anyone who shakes hands and isn't my dad's age."

"Sorry about that." Adam let go of Stiles's hand, "I guess we're just old fashioned in the Mid-West."

"No kidding?" The other teen answered, extending his hand to greet Adam, "Scott McCall."

"Yeah, Wisconsin." Adam nodded, shaking Scott's hand.

In the single moment in which Adam's hand came in contact with Scott's, Adam noted several things. First was just how curiously warm Scott's flesh was, almost hot. The second came at the moment Adam's ring touched Scott. The younger teen's hand stiffened, and Adam could see twinges of pain cross Scott's face.

But all that lasted only a moment, not even enough time for the conversation to miss a beat. "Oh yeah, Cheesehead!" Scott laughed, dropping his hand quickly.

"Oh great," Adam gave a small chuckle himself, "I take it I won't be living that nickname down."

"With a boring name like Adam Milton? You bet!" Stiles laughed, "Hey, what's your schedule, maybe we have some classes together."

Adam showed Stiles his schedule, keeping Scott in the corner of his eye.

Stiles let out a low whistle, "Holy crap, man. AP Anatomy, Calculus, AP Comp…what the hell is wrong with you? Aren't you just a junior? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"What, too much?" Adam chuckled, "I want to look good when I apply for college."

"Good luck with that, if you've got Harris for AP Anatomy." Scott shook his head. "He's got a stick so far up his ass, you can see it when he talks."

Adam chuckled, "Don't worry, I'm pretty good with science…" He paused as the school bell began to chime its warning bell, "I better head to my first class, I better not be late on my first day."

"You know where you're going?" Stiles asked curiously.

Adam flipped his schedule over, where a school map was printed, "I think I can figure it out. But maybe I'll see you two at lunch?"

Scott gave Adam a smile, though the blond could tell it was stunted somewhat. "Sure thing. We'll look for you."

With that, Adam turned and made his way through the crowds of teens on their way to classes. It definitely felt strange, being back in high school. He was simply glad that he was able to still pass as someone under eighteen…considering the fact he was more or less twenty…how old was he?

**_You_****_'_****_re twenty. It's only been a year since your nineteen year old body was restored._**

Adam had to resist the urge to smirk too widely. **_So were you hanging around spying on me the entire time?_**

**_It_****_'_****_s not like I have other options. _**

**_You could hang out at the motel. Catch up on your Humanisms._**

**_You say that like I should _****want****_ to act human._**

**_You_****_'_****_re going to have to. _**Adam stepped into the science classroom, watching the students to see where he might be able to take a seat. The students gave him a cursory glance, but weren't anything more than curious. **_But enough of your bitching, I_****_'_****_ve already got something. One of the students here isn't human. _**

**_Oh? And do you know what it might be?_**

**_Something that reacts to silver. _** Adam took a seat near the supply closet in the back of the room, giving the pretty blonde next to him a kind smile, **_Good thinking with the ring by the way, I owe you one._**

**_If only that were the case, I_****_'_****_d be free by now._**

Adam had to cover his mouth to hide the grin that was spreading his face. **_Aww, don_****_'_****_t be like that Michael. We've got a lead, and at the very least, we have a hunt._**

**_Oh goodie._**


	4. Chapter 4

_So here's chapter four of Winchester under the Bed. This one is basically telling how Adam and Michael got to be where they are._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**One Year Previous**

When Michael had tumbled into the depths of Lucifer's Box, he had assumed that it was the end of his world spiraling out of control, resulting in him being confined for eternity with the brother who had turned against him.

Michael had never entered Hell, but he imagined that spending eternity with Lucifer would be close enough.

So when Michael had opened his eyes, after falling for what seemed like ages, and found that he was face down on an old, dusty rug, it was needless to say he was confused.

He should have been in Stull Cemetary, if he was to be anywhere but the burning fires of Hell. He certainly shouldn't have been in a cluttered study. Books were lined on every bookshelf, and there were several stacked on various surfaces; papers were strewn about haphazardly around the room. Michael could even spy a bottle of what he assumed was liquor set on the desk.

"I was wondering when you would wake up, Michael."

Michael picked up his head sluggishly (marveling at just how heavy his body felt), turning to look at the source of the voice. No doubt to a human eye, the man sitting in the arm chair across the room would have been simply ordinary: an ordinary man with an ordinary (if a bit scraggly) beard, with ordinary clothes and an ordinary hair.

But Michael wasn't human.

"Father…" Michael slurred, trying his best to get to his feet. His body was slow and sluggish to respond to Michael's commands. It was infuriating to the seraph.

"Careful, Michael." The man, or rather, God, smiled softly, "I made that body for you, don't break it so soon."

Michael blinked, looking down at his hands. They weren't Adam Milligan's hands, they were bigger, wider, "You made me a vessel?"

"Body." The heavenly father shook his head, standing from his arm chair, "After what you did to your last vessel, the last thing I'm going to do is allow you to destroy another human's life."

Michael grit his teeth, not looking the Almighty in the eye.

"Don't think I didn't know about what you and the others did, Michael." A firm hand gripped Michael's arm, "Don't think I didn't know that your brewing jealousy would lead you and your brothers and sisters to try and bring the Apocalypse upon the Earth."

"I was _not jealous_ of the humans, father!"

"_Do not lie to me, Michael!__"_ For an instant, the average persona melted away to reveal the sheer power that lay beneath. But the ordinary facade was back in place before Michael's eyes could be burned from his body (or his body obliterated completely). There was a soft expression on God's face, "Michael, I crafted you with my own hands before time began, I know the darkest secrets of your heart."

Michael didn't answer. What was there to say?

"You've hated humans ever since the Eden debacle—"

"It was _not_ a debacle, father!" Michael could feel his skin flushing with anger, "They disobeyed you! You gave them everything, and they turned around and spat in your face!"

"Like Lucifer."

Michael stopped, refusing to speak of his brother. Never again.

He could hear his father approaching him, and could feel the warmth of his hands grasping Michael's shoulders, "Michael, I'm sure we could talk about Lucifer and the imperfections of humans until the end of time, but I know you are not the best of listeners."

"I am _not—__"_

"And you don't take criticism well." There was a fond smile on God's face, "But that's why I've made you a body, you'll need it for your lesson."

"Lesson?"

"Yes, you have learning to do, not to mention you need to clean up your mess. Until further notice, this is the last time you'll be in heaven."

"What?!" Michael could feel the outrage boiling within him.

But he didn't get the chance to voice anything further. In one moment, he was standing in front of the Almighty, but in the next, he blinked, and he was laying on his back in the middle of Stull Cemetery.

"No!" With a jolt, Michael sat up to look at his surroundings.

The opening to the Box was closed, and there was no evidence that it had ever been opened. In fact, the entire cemetery was empty save for one other soul, Michael's former vessel.

"I see you're awake." Adam was already sitting up, elbows resting on his knees, "Did you talk to God too?"

Michael blinked at the lanky blond, "You spoke to my Father?"

"After he put me back together after what you did to it, yeah." The youngest Winchester (even if not by name) snorted, "I should be pissed at you for what you and the other angels did. But at least God let me see my mother before he sent me back down here for this task."

"Task?"

"Oh come on, there's no way God didn't tell you that you were going to be cleaning up after your little botched Apocalypse." With a groan, Adam stood up shakily, "I'm guessing that means we need to be hunting demons? What else will we be cleaning up?"

Michael didn't answer the human. He was desperately trying to get back to heaven. He could still feel all of his grace as an archangel, but no matter how hard he tried, he simply could not gain access to heaven.

"Are you done having your meltdown?" Adam was confidently standing now, looking down at Michael, "Because if either of us wants to get out of this mess, we're going to have to work together." He extended a hand, intending to help Michael to his feet.

But the archangel refused the offered help. He may have been forced out of heaven by God himself, but he refused to rely on a weak human. Instead, Michael stood on his own, looking down at the blond from his taller stature.

"Let's go."

—

Michael spent the first few weeks after waking up in Stull Cemetery desperately trying to find an alternative way to get in contact with heaven. He tried searching the face of the Earth for any sign of anyone who could help him return to heaven.

At least, he tried to search the Earth.

God, it had seemed, had no intention of letting Michael run away from the task given to him. The Almighty had seen fit to give Michael a short leash. And that leash was Adam Milligan.

No matter what Michael did, it wouldn't be long before he found himself back at the blonde's side. Either Adam would say a prayer and summon Michael, or the young man would get himself in danger and Michael would be forced to intervene.

It wasn't that Michael _wanted_ to save the human's life. In fact, the first time Adam had gotten himself killed (trying to kill an attacking vampire with a wooden stake, _idiot_), Michael had been content to allow the blond to die. But then Michael found himself in a time loop of that hour until he ultimately realized that he _could not_ allow Adam to die.

Which meant Michael had to keep the human from harm. And that meant teaching him to defend himself.

"You do _not_ use a wooden stake against vampires, you fool." Michael rolled his eyes after sparing Adam's life, "You have to behead them."

Adam frowned, "Well excuse me. I don't exactly have any experience with monster hunting!"

It was a bitter reminder that Adam was not Dean, Michael's true sword and experienced hunter. And the only way that Adam would stay alive long enough to complete their task would be if Michael taught him how to survive.

As if Michael needed another reason to resent his circumstances.

—

They had been hunting for a month when Michael had to teach Adam to memorize the Latin needed for an exorcism. Of course Michael could simply smite the demons, but he needed to be sure the weaker human could at least handle a low level demon on his own. He couldn't possibly be saving Adam every five minutes.

The day after Michael taught Adam the Latin words, he found pages of paper in their motel room, each page covered with repetitions of the exorcism. He also heard Adam practicing the words while he was in the shower.

"Repetition helps me remember." Adam had admitted when Michael confronted him, "It's the same tactic I used to study for my pre-med classes."

The next time they came across a demon, Michael hadn't even had the chance to draw his weapon before Adam had exorcised the demon.

—

Michael began to find more pages as they continued to hunt. Every time they encountered a new beast (well, new to Adam), the novice hunter would write down every detail Michael could tell him, and then repeatedly write that information until their motel room was littered with binder paper.

But every time they left a motel, Adam would burn every copy of his notes save for one. He would always save one copy of his new information and store it in a black binder.

"My dad apparently had a journal with all his hunting information." Adam had admitted once as they drove from their motel in Bristol, Rhode Island (after dealing with a rogue Arachne). "So I thought I'd start keeping my own."

Michael didn't say anything, and he certainly wouldn't acknowledge any sort of appreciation for Adam's studiousness.

—

They had been hunting as a team for a year. During that time, Adam had lost the natural fear most humans have of Michael's awesome power as an archangel, and Michael had developed a reluctant tolerance of Adam's presence.

The human would always take Michael to dinner whenever they reached a new town, despite the fact that Michael did not require food to sustain himself.

"Well you know, you can eat for the sake of enjoyment." Adam had replied while they were in Evanston, Illinois, shortly before their buffalo wings had arrived. Michael didn't admit that he actually liked buffalo wings, even if buffalo didn't actually have wings.

It was a strange tradition for them, but the two of them had taken small comfort in the ritual. One single constant in their vague and erratic quest.

Beacon Hills was a mysterious town. It had come on their radar while they finished up a hunt in San Diego. The string of violent murders had caught their attention, especially since they were all attributed to animal attacks.

"Animal attacks" was usually code for "Violent, yet unexplainable deaths." Which meant they had a hunt.

And there was something with the town that "ruffled his feathers" (as Adam was fond of saying), and Michael had the feeling that their hunt would not be their normal fare.

As it was, Michael had taken to roaming the streets of the small town while Adam was busy playing schoolboy. It was something he had done plenty of times before, and Michael was often able to detect any evil presences. It made their job easier (though not as easy as it might have been if Michael could simply smite every beast they came across when they came across them, but Adam said it was "too conspicuous").

The people did not seem to be affected by the bloody murders that were only a few weeks behind them. Which was incredibly strange. It would seem the humans had believed the reports of "animal attacks" (Michael knew humans were stupid, but were they truly dim?), or they were simply used to the string of violence.

Either way, it was unsettling.

As Michael made his way down the sidewalk, he could sense a nonhuman presence. The archangel stopped, looking around to try and pinpoint the presence. At that time of day, there were few people on the streets. As it was, the only figure worth noting was a young man making his way towards a fancy looking car. He was similar to Michael in build, and judging by the stance the man had while walking, he was in an agitated state.

An agitated state made it easy for Michael to see through the human facade that monsters hid behind to see them for . Even if only for a moment.

A moment was all Michael needed to see it. Just as the man opened the door to his car, Michael could see a flash of red in the other's irises.

_Red, huh?_

There were not a whole lot of creatures with red eyes, especially not red irises.

Interesting.

As the man drove away, Michael took out his phone and snapped a quick photo of the car (it might make it easier to identify the man). After that, he quickly typed out a text to Adam.

_[Found a lycan.]_

Michael didn't receive a response for an hour. During that time, Michael had decided to take the human approach and conduct some research. He had been sifting through the library's newspaper archive when he recieved Adam's response.

_[So are you going to take care of it?]_

_[Not that simple.] _Michael took several notes from the articles he was reading. The notes were more for Adam than for him, as the archangel had near perfect memory. Based on the newspapers, there was more to the the sleepy town than they had anticipated. _[I__'__ll explain more when you're done at the school]_

_[Understood. Have you found a place you want to go to dinner?]_

* * *

_There you are! Let me know what you think, or if you have any ideas what should happen next!_


	5. Chapter 5

"I guess we better warn the others that Adam has a silver ring."

"No kidding, Stiles." Scott winced, examining the burn on his hand.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, "That looks bad…"

"Yeah, he had a tight grip." Scott muttered, "I better text Isaac, let him know he needs to bandage his hand or something if Mr. Cheesehead is going to keep shaking hands…"

Neither was paying attention to the lecture of their class (then again, it was Finstock, there probably wasn't much learning happening). Stiles was quickly writing down what little he knew about Adam, "We should probably check with Allison, maybe she can check the family Bestiary and see if Adam is a creepy crawly."

"Aren't you jumping the gun a bit, Stiles?" Scott shook his head, "Just because he has a silver ring doesn't mean he's the devil incarnate."

"Maybe not, but he might be, with the way our luck is going." Stiles scoffed, "Maybe he's part of a hunter clan. Allison could ask her dad to see if he knows about the other clans, right?"

Scott didn't answer, mainly because Stiles had a point. The Argents couldn't be the only hunters in existence, could they? And even if they were, surely there were bound to be more branches of the family. Of course, that meant there was no telling just how many hunters were lurking in the world…and not all of them would be as forgiving as Chris Argent.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that…" He mumbled, jotting down a few notes from what was on Finstock's powerpoint. "The last thing we need is another Gerard…"

"No kidding, which is why we need to be sure."

"Why does this stuff keep happening to us?"

"Probably because we're the only ones who can deal with it…or at least fake it until we figure it out."

* * *

By the time lunch rolled around, Adam was aware of the fact there were at least two werewolves in Beacon Hills. Chances were there were more, if there was an actual pack. But considering the fact that even Michael said it wasn't simple, there was no telling what might lay in store for them.

Well, at least this hunt wouldn't be boring. Which, honestly, Adam was beginning to feel a bit of a rut. He knew that he and Michael were meant to be on some sort of quest, but neither of them knew exactly _what _they were looking for.

And Adam hated taking tests without knowing what to study.

Though, learning the Hunter lifestyle was doing quite a bit to keep him occupied (and Adam could honestly say that he had never been in better shape). And while Adam had wanted to become a doctor, at least being a Hunter also served to save lives.

As Adam made his way into the crowded cafeteria, he couldn't help but wonder just how the teenage werewolf played into the violent deaths of Beacon Hills (as well as who else might be involved). Honestly, Adam would hate to have to kill a bunch of teenagers, but if they were a threat to humanity…well, there would simply be nothing for it.

It was easy to spy Stiles, with his frantic waving from his seat next to Scott at the table. He smiled softly, making his way towards the energetic teen. Even though Stiles appeared to be human, Adam knew that he was involved somehow. It would be a shame if Adam would have to be slay Stiles, he seemed likable enough.

"Hey Adam!" Stiles grinned, scooting over so that Adam had a place to sit.

Adam couldn't help but notice that Stiles had given him the seat that placed Adam away from Scott. He wasn't sure if it was mere coincidence, or if the teens were just as wary of him as he was of them. "Hey Stiles, I take it your classes are going well?"

"As well as they can, when you've got Finstock for Econ." Scott shook his head, taking a bite of…what appeared to be spaghetti.

"He's absolutely crazy." Stiles nodded, "Which is fine when he's coaching Lacross…not so much while he's teaching Econ."

"I think we all have teachers like that." Adam chuckled, reaching into his backpack to grab his lunch. Sure, it was nothing more than a sandwich that he had bought at Starbucks that morning, but Adam wasn't about to poison his body with whatever was being served in the cafeteria (he'd go grocery shopping later).

"Yeah, and you're stuck with Harris, that sounds like fun." Scott mumbled.

"He wasn't that bad." Adam shook his head. Honestly, strict teachers weren't that hard to handle once one learned to say and do all the right things. "Besides, I'm good with Anatomy. It comes natural to me."

Adam had taken his first bite of sandwich when several other students joined them at the table. Even if Adam hadn't been on the lookout for werewolves, he would have noticed that the teens were in far greater shape than most of their peers. That, in addition to the fact that the sandy-haired boy kept eyeing him warily, suggested that Adam had just identified more of the werewolf pack.

"Hey guys!" Stiles smiled, "Adam, this is Isaac, Erika, and Boyd."

Adam nodded politely to them, smiling softly, "It is so nice to meet you all." He didn't attempt to shake their hands: one, they were holding lunch trays, and two, Adam was pretty confident of his assessments of the teens.

And if Adam was being honest, the teens were not very good at hiding secrets. They were all downright shifty, and it made Adam nearly want to crawl out of his skin.

Though Adam wasn't sure why they were all so spooked by him…

_I hope it__'__s not because I smell like sulfur…I thought I washed these clothes after that demon in San Diego…That's what I get for washing my clothes in a motel sink…_

As the teens settled into their lunches and conversations, Adam noticed that Scott was not paying attention to the activities at hand. Instead, the dark haired boy was staring across the cafeteria to where two girls, a brunette and a redhead, were enjoying their own lunch.

Adam nudged Stiles gently, "Who's Scott staring at?"

Stiles followed Scott's gaze across the the room, blanching slightly, "Oh, just some…friends…"

"So which one is Scott's crush?"

"Crush, who said anything about a crush?"

"Scott did, with his googoo eyes." Adam rolled his eyes, taking a drink of water from his Nalgene. He did not miss the hormonal years of high school…even if prom had been enjoyable…

Stiles grimaced, "It's his ex, actually…"

"Ah…" Adam noticed that Stiles hadn't said which girl had been romantically linked to Scott, and wasn't providing any more details than necessary. But Adam wasn't going to push it, no need to stir trouble any more than necessary.

As he took another bite of his sandwich, Adam was content to simply keep an eye on the werewolf pack. After all, he still needed to meet with Michael to see what information the archangel had dug up.

* * *

As the son of the sheriff, Stiles didn't like to admit that he had developed a skill for sneaking around. As a guy with a violently protective boyfriend, he didn't like admitting that he had his hand in another guy's pocket.

But Stiles didn't mind admitting that he was able to pick pocket the older teen. Hey, desperate times called for desperate measures. It might have been a shot in the dark, but Stiles had to get a feel for the new guy.

The first thing Stiles noticed as he looked at the phone was that it was an old flip phone, probably a pre-paid one. Who still used those?

But at least old phone meant no passcode to get in the phone. While Adam was engrossed in conversation with Erika, Stiles quickly flipped through the phone's information. And either Adam was not a tech savvy guy, or he just _really_ didn't like using his phone. The thing was practically virgin, with the exception of the few calls placed to places around Beacon Hills (a motel, the school, and the like). The guy only had one saved contact. Didn't he have any friends at his old school?

Since Adam only had one contact, Stiles was able to narrow down the messages that he should check (which was good, since Stiles really wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking for in the first place.

_Message from: Michael  
[Found a lycan.]_

Stiles could feel his blood freeze in his body when he read those three words. Lycan, aka werewolf. Aka Adam and the mysterious Michael knew the secret of the Beacon Hills pack. Though Stiles nearly lost his lunch when he read Adam's reply.

[_So_ a_re you going to take care of it?]_

So Adam knew as well, and fully intended to finish them off. Stiles had seen enough, he had what he wanted. Adam was a hunter, and a danger to them all.

Now to get the phone back into Adam's pocket without the hunter noticing…

And Stiles tried. Really, he did. But his sneaking abilities only extended to getting things _out_, not so much putting them back.

Instead the phone fell to the tile floor with a clatter, the back and battery pack separating from the phone upon impact. The group's attention was instantly drawn to the pieces of the phone.

"Damn, the phone is always doing that…" Adam sighed, picking up the pieces of the phone to put it back together, "I could have sworn it was in my pocket."

"I hate it when my phone does that." Stiles nodded in agreement, hoping the other teen wouldn't suspect that the phone had made its way out of his pocket through any other power than gravity.

Adam didn't seem to suspect, as he powered up the phone again, "Thank goodness it's not broken. My uncle would never let me live it down if I had to get a new one."

"Your uncle?" Scott asked, "You're staying with your uncle?"

"Yeah, it's just me and him, really." Adam nodded, "Uncle Michael more or less took me in after my mom died."

So the mysterious Michael was actually Uncle Michael. Two hunters with familial ties. Not a whole lot of information to go one, but luckily, Stiles knew who to go to for information on hunters…

* * *

Allison Argent had been a very rough school year. Changing schools, losing an aunt, losing a mother, and losing a grandfather could take a toll on any teenage girl. That wasn't even accounting for…well, the family secret. Which, in all honesty, had made Allison's life miserable for long enough. She'd be more than happy to never deal with werewolves or their ilk ever again.

So seeing Stiles next to her locker after school was one of the last things Allison wanted to see.

"Please tell me you just want the Chem homework…" Allison sighed as she approached her locker.

Stiles laughed awkwardly, "Like I ever do Chem homework." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Listen, Allison, I know you don't want to deal with any of this supernatural stuff anymore—"

"Then don't involve me." Allison replied shortly, opening her locker and grabbing her books.

"Look, it's nothing big, Allison." Stiles nodded.

"Don't do this to me, Stiles." Shaking her head, Allison slammed her locker shut. "Not after everything else I've lost." With that, she made her way out of the hallway, eager to meet her dad and get home.

She hadn't expected Stiles to grab her arm as she left, "Listen, we just need you to ask your dad if he recognizes the name Milton as a hunter family name, and what he knows about them."

Despite everything she told herself about being involved was a bad idea, Allison turned back to Stiles, "Milton?"

"There's a new kid at school, named Adam Milton. He wears a solid silver ring on his right hand, and it looks super old." Stiles cleared his throat, forcing himself to get back on topic, "I checked his phone, and he and his uncle had this conversation about finding a lycan and "taking care of it." I know things suck right now…but you and your dad are the only people we trust who can give us any information about these two."

Allison sighed. One of these days, getting involved in supernatural matters was going to get her killed.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright, I'll talk to my dad." Allison shook her head, "I can't promise anything much, Stiles."

"Anything is better than what we have." Stiles nodded enthusiastically, "Thank you Allison."

She didn't respond, smiling weakly at Stiles before turning back to meet her father at their designated meeting space. Her father would not like this conversation one bit…

* * *

Michael didn't like admitting he enjoyed anything part of human culture, including the humans themselves. They were still weak, immoral creatures, and Michael hated having to associate with them during his banishment…for the most part.

Though as he sat in a diner booth, looking over the menu, Michael had to admit there were some redeeming qualities in humanity.

"Why are you looking at a menu? Don't you always order the same thing?"

Michael looked up to see Adam taking a seat across from him. It was strange, but Michael had grown accustom to the young man's company, both as a host and as a partner. "I like to look at the variety."

Adam snorted, picking up his own menu, "The only variety you try, Michael, is what I make you try."

"Believe it or not, I am capable of exploring varieties on my own." Michael murmured, scanning the menu for the tenth time.

Adam hummed noncommittally, picking up his own menu. By the time the waitress came by with water, the blond had already decided on his order, "Can I get the Garden Salad with grilled chicken; dressing on the side, please?"

The Waitress nodded as she jotted down the order before turning to Michael, "And you, sir?"

Michael looked at the menu again before sighing, "I'll have the buffalo wings."

"Mild or spicy?"

"…Spicy." Michael didn't even want to see the smug look on Michael's face as the waitress walked away with their order.

"Nice variety."

"Shut up."

Adam smiled, taking a sip of his water, "So what did you find?"

Straight the point, Michael liked that about Adam, he knew when to get down to business. "I came across a lycan while walking the streets."

The blond nodded, "You told me that already. Why didn't you take care of it like the other werewolves we've hunted?"

"Not a werewolf, a lycanthrope."

Adam blinked, "…Aren't they the same thing? I mean, lycanthrope is just a fancier word for it, but…"

Michael shook his head, "There is a slight difference. Werewolves are what we have hunted in the past: feral animals who survive on human hearts for the most part. Sometimes they form packs, with an Alpha to lead them, sometimes they wander alone. But what I haven't told you yet, is about the Alpha."

By now, Adam had gotten a notebook from his backpack and was prepared to take notes. "So what's so special about a pack leader?"

"Not a pack leader, Adam. This isn't about _an _Alpha, this is about _the_ Alpha. The Alpha Lycanthrope is the first werewolf, lycanthropy started through him."

Adam was scribbling now, "Alright, Grandaddy Werewolf…"

"And those who descended from his line, or are within four "bite generations" of one of those lines, are called purebloods. But they refer to themselves as lycanthropes." Michael continued.

Adam looked up at Michael, his hand still moving at an accelerated rate as he wrote, "So lycans are one of these purebloods, and werewolves are not. And you found one of these guys?" He raised an eyebrow, "More importantly, what difference does is make about their lineage?"

"Because, Adam," Michael paused in his explanation as the waitress arrived with their food. Only after she left did he continue, "purebloods have more control than a run of the mill werewolf. They can shift at will, not just during the full moon. Not all lycan bites will cause the spread of lycanthropy, only the bite of a pack Alpha. And, most importantly: they don't need to survive on human hearts."

That gave Adam pause, "And you're _sure_ the werewolf you saw was a…lycanthrope?"

Michael nodded, "Absolutely, it may have been a few centuries since I dealt with them, but I still recognize a pureblood. In fact, he's the pack Alpha."

"And if he's the one from this oh so special lineage…then those in his pack are also purebloods?"

"If they're not more than four bites removed."

"…so they aren't a threat?" Michael could practically hear the hope in Adam's voice.

"I wouldn't say that just yet."

* * *

Of course Michael would say that. Adam wasn't sure what made him think that Michael could simply say "Don't worry, they're harmless." But then again, there was probably a good reason behind it.

"They can still kill very easily." Michael nodded, picking up a greasy wing and taking a bite. "And we don't know if they're behind the violent attacks that have surrounded Beacon Hills."

"True." Adam nodded, flipping through his binder as he took a bite of salad, "Did you find out anything else?"

"Other than the fact our Alpha has a history of violence following him." Michael reached a sticky hand over to Adam's binder (only bothering to clean his hand off when Adam smacked the hand away from his precious notebook). The archangel flipped through their collected pages on Beacon Hills, coming to one of their oldest entries, "This house fire is our starting point. Wiped out nearly the entire Hale family, only three survived: one adult, and two teens out at a school dance."

"Right, I remember reading this." Adam nodded, his memory jogged.

"Well of those three survivors, only two are alive." Michael turned the page, "The third, Miss Laura Hale, becomes our victim number 2, if we lump the fire victims together."

"And Laura was ripped apart in an "animal attack." And her brother was a suspect because he buried part of her body." Adam chuckled, dipping his fork in the dressing before taking another bite of salad.

"Yes, but here's the thing." Michael pointed at the newspaper clipping detailing Laura Hale's death. There was only one picture in the article: her brother Derek being loaded into the back of a police car under suspicion of his sister's death, "That's the Alpha I saw."

Adam raised an eyebrow, "Derek Hale is the Alpha? A bit young, don't you think?"

"Says the twenty year old hunter." Michael smirked, "But Alpha's aren't always about age, they're about strength. Strongest one is the leader, easy as that.

"But knowing that Derek, and likely everyone in Beacon Hills with the last name Hale, is a lycan, brings more clarity to the rest of the deaths." Michael flipped though the pages quickly to find the more recent deaths, "Victims three, four, six, seven, and nine were all involved in the arson of the Hale family home."

"Sounds like good old fashion revenge murder to me." Adam shook his head, "And victims five and eight?"

"Five was a janitor killed during a school attack, my guess is he was simply a victim of circumstance." Michael took another bite of spicy chicken, "And eight was the personal nurse of one Peter Hale, survivor number three."

"Good God, this is complicated." Adam ignored the way Michael flinched at the mention of his father, instead taking more bites of his salad, "But there are more deaths than that…"

Michael nodded, "Most definitely. While victim ten was a vagrant who was found cut in half by a sword, victims eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen apparently all had connections to a…a swim team? What exactly is that?"

"It's like how some people run races, but instead they swim it." Adam answered Michael's human culture question as he checked on the deaths of victims ten through fourteen, "Hold up…Lahey."

"Who?"

"Victim eleven." Adam rolled his eyes, "I met his son while I was at the school. I couldn't be sure, but I'm pretty sure that he's a lycan as well."

"So there are at least two lycans?"

"More than that. I know a student named Scott McCall is definitely a lycan. In fact, I was probably introduced to an entire pack of them during lunch." Adam chuckled, "But here's the thing: they all seemed nervous, if not scared of me."

Michael frowned, "Well that doesn't seem right…why would they be scared of you?"

Before either of them could think of a reasonable answer, the diner was filled with the low whines of sirens as police cruiser after police cruiser sped by the window. The hunter and the angel shared a look as the last police cruiser moved out of range.

Huffing out a sigh, Michael put down the half eaten buffalo wing, "I suppose I should go see what the fuss is about."

Adam nodded, "As tragic as it sounds, if it is another victim, it'll be good to get a look at the fresh body and figure out if they are lycan wounds."

The angel grunted in response, getting out of his chair and walking towards the diner's restrooms. It had taken Adam quite a while to teach Michael that he simply couldn't disappear and reappear in public. Humans might not be very observant, he had told Michael, but they aren't completely oblivious. So Michael learned to walk to a less noticeable area before "flying" away.

After Michael left to check out the center of the police attention, Adam allowed himself a few moments to enjoy his salad and make a few notes in his notebook. Beacon Hills had an impressive body count, and conspiracies to go along with it. Part of Adam wished it was something as simple as a vengeful werewolf (or rather, lycan), so that way he and Michael could slay the rabid dog and be on to the next assignment. On the other hand, the kids Adam had talked to at the school had seemed like good kids. They seemed more like puppies than werewolves.

Adam shook his head, getting a fresh page from his notebook to keep his thoughts organized.

_Beacon Hills Lycans:  
Derek Hale (Alpha) — Peter Hale (Uncle) [both original lycans]  
Scott McCall  
Isaac Lahey  
Erica Reyes  
Boyd (Surname?)_

After a bit of thought, Adam decided he didn't exactly have a place for Stiles on his chart. He wasn't a lycan, that was obvious, but it was also clear that the energetic teen was deeply involved with his group of friends.

_Stiles (Human— does he know? What is his role?)_

Normally Adam didn't have to put together so many puzzle pieces for a hunt. For the most part, it would be as simple as: identify cause of human death, identify the monster, kill the monster, get out of town quick. And honestly, Adam enjoyed the change of pace. Perhaps it was cases like this that God had intended them to take care of…

From behind his seat at the booth, Adam could head the door to the diner opening, along with a male voice speaking.

"Stiles, I don't care what your dad's radio said, you are not going to snoop around anywhere."

Adam didn't turn to look at the voice mentioning a suspect (for want of a better word); too obvious. Instead, he simply waited for the man to pass by his booth on his way to the counter.

Even from a side/back view, Adam could easily recognize Derek Hale. The Alpha was alone, but was holding a cellphone to his ear, and Adam already knew who was on the other end…

"Look, just stay at your place, Stiles. I'll be over in a bit with food…yes, I'm getting curly fries…and shakes…"

Adam smiled to himself as he listened to the conversation. He knew those types of conversations. After finishing off his salad, Adam drew a line from Stiles's name to Derek's.

_Possibly together [or very close]_

The blond had barely finished jotting the note down that the Alpha grabbed a to-go bag from the counter, making his way out of the diner. Derek could see Adam now as he walked past the booth, and Adam felt the lycan stare him down the entire time. In fact, he could have sworn he saw a snarl curling at the corners of the Alpha's mouth, just before Derek left the diner.

And while Adam had learned many things over the past year when it came to monsters and the supernatural, the most important thing Michael had taught him was to always trust his instincts.

He added a small note to the bottom of his page.

_They know (How? What does that mean for the hunt?)_

Adam hadn't listed half the questions he had bouncing in his head when he realized that Michael was seated across from him again, eating his buffalo wings. While Michael had learned to vanish more discretely, he was still a sneaky motherfucker even while walking.

"That was quick." Adam muttered distractedly, rubbing his temples. Perhaps he could ask the waitress for a cup of coffee… "So what was it?"

"A murder." The archangel nodded, "Based on what I could hear from the conversations of the lawmen—"

_Police, Michael, they__'__re called police…_

_"_Someone reported hearing screams from a warehouse on the other side of town. The first officer on sight found the body in what was described as "one fucked up Satanic ritual," which prompted him to call in back up."

Adam snorted, both at hearing Michael curse as well a the description of the scene, "We both know that people have a tendency to describe a lot of things they don't understand as "Satanic." So what do you think really happened?"

"I have no doubt that whatever happened in that warehouse was demonic."

Well, that was new. Adam went to get another forkful of his salad, only to realize he was stabbing his empty plate, "Are you sure it couldn't have been a lycan attack? What wounds did the body have?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Adam frowned.

"I couldn't get inside the warehouse." Micheal shook his head. The angel reached into his pocket to take out his phone. After taking a few moments to scroll through his menu options, Michael turned the phone to Adam to show him the pictures on the screen, "This was on each of the doors and windows at the warehouse."

Adam stared at the tiny screen, trying to make out the drawn shapes being depicted, "What is this, Michael?"

"An Angel-banishing sigil." Michael nodded slowly, "Of course, it may be possible that our Alpha might have had the knowledge to draw those sigils, if his family had that kind of background."

"It wasn't Derek." Adam sighed, "I just saw him in here picking up food. He was not sweaty, or covered in blood. There's no way he could have killed someone across town, get changed, and get here all within the time it took police to respond to the call."

Michael didn't question Adam's statement, nodding slowly, "The only other groups that would know those sigils are other angels, and I have yet to meet with any of my brothers and sisters, or demons."

_"__Demons…"_ Adam felt all the air leave his lungs. They were dealing with _demons_, demons who didn't want an angel to find out their business. "This could be what we were meant to find…this must be part of the mess we're cleaning up…"

"And more importantly, stop another mess before it can happen." Michael nodded, dropping the last bone from his wings onto his plate. "We've got our work to do."

* * *

Adam was not a fool. He knew very well that a single hunter, even one with angelic back up, wouldn't be able to handle all of the chaos in Beacon Hills. He had some basic experience with demons, but demons who were hiding something behind sigils strong enough to keep an archangel out? He knew when he was out of his league. And he wasn't above admitting that he needed help.

Sitting on the end of his motel bed, Adam turned his cellphone over in his hand carefully. Michael was, at that moment, scouring the town for any traces of demonic presence, leaving Adam to supposedly sleep. No doubt the archangel would be furious if he knew Adam was making the call he was about to make.

Taking a deep breath, Adam punched in the numbers he had memorized like the back of his hand. As he held the phone to his ear, he knew that no one was going to pick up at the other end. No one ever did. Instead, all he got was the answering machine.

_"__This is John Winchester. I'm unavailable. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean: 785-555-0179. He can help."_

Adam smiled softly at hearing his father's voice. He wondered if John was looking down on him, watching as he became just like his brothers. Even if Adam had never been a close to his father as Sam and Dean had been, he couldn't help but feel closer to the family (despite having never spoken with them) since he began hunting.

But introspection aside, Adam quickly hung up the cell phone and dialed the digits listed by John Winchester. Again, no one picked up at the other end.

_"__This is Dean. If this is an emergency, leave a message." _

Short and to the point. One of the few instances in which Dean didn't like to hear his own voice, it seemed. But Adam didn't dwell on how his brother may be as a person, simply waiting for the beep to allow him to record his message.

"Hi Dean, this is Adam…for real, this time. I'm sure you've been busy, I've been busy too since I crawled out of hell, but I really need your help in Beacon Hills, California. I've come across some very suspicious demon behavior…they're up to something, I just can't figure out what. There's already been one demonic sacrifice made, and if we don't hurry, the body count will only rise."

With that, Adam snapped the phone closed. Well, that should get big brother's attention.

* * *

_Yes, I realize that the chances of Dean still having the phone number he used in season 1 is very slim. But since a new phone number isn't mentioned until season 7, I decided I was going to play with things a little._

_And man, it is very hard to blend these two fandoms and their lore together. I know TW werewolves don't react to silver, but they do for SPN, so I'm having to kinda cobble things together so they mesh well._

_Anyway, let me know what you think and if you have any ideas of what you'd want to happen next!_


End file.
